Lectures On Fourteenth Century France
by art.nerd
Summary: A simple account of the origins of one of the most famous romances in the galaxy.


PAGE 41, PART 12

"…_And that was how Ambassador Abraham Lincoln saved the Great Pyramids of Giza at Pearl Harbor in 14__th__ Century France."_

Amanda Grayson sighed as she covered the paper with red marks and notes, and placed a large crimson "D" at the top of the page.

It had been a long day, and there was still a literal mountain of papers left to grade…hopefully the rest of them were better informed than the one she had just read.

If it had been any other night, she would have been content to sit and suffer through mediocre essays—but tonight she actually had somewhere to be.

She had been a teacher for several years; teaching many grades and many students. This year, she was not only teaching the fourth graders at the local elementary school, but also an Earth history class at the Embassy.

It was very strange; for five days out of the week, her class was the very picture of youth and innocence—a mass of shining young faces gazed up at her as she taught them their lessons. But on the remaining two days, her pupils were a conglomerate of various ages and species, soaking up her words as she lectured endlessly about everything in Earth's long history that was worth noting.

But this week, her classes at the Embassy had to be rescheduled, due to a conference being held there that weekend. Thus, her class had been moved to Tuesday and Wednesday evening. Overlapping significantly with her time usually spent grading papers, she had to hurry to meet the deadline.

Stealing a glance at the clock, she noticed that she was due in her classroom in exactly twenty minutes. How had time gotten away from her!? That left her just enough time to get to the Embassy…if she could somehow achieve self-sustained warp speed.

Knowing full well that she would not make it to her class before the tardy bell, she set out for her destination.

* * *

The halls of the Embassy were constructed of highly polished marble that gleamed under the soft golden glow of the wall sconces that lined the halls and chambers. The floors were black, resembling the glassy surface of an undisturbed pond, and although there were several guests occupying the corridors, an odd silence hung thick in the building.

But the serenity of the complex was shattered as Amanda hustled through the corridors toward her classroom.

On her way, she passed a crowded hall that housed the Vulcan assembly that had been brought there for the conference that was interfering with her class schedule.

The Human in her said, _Hmph…how strange they look._ And she subconsciously noted the odd construction of the females' corsets: they were very…geometric, and looked quite uncomfortable. _Luckily,_ she told herself, _I'll never have to wear one of _those.

But the teacher in her was brilling with curiosity about the foreign group. It then dawned on her that she had never actually _met_ a Vulcan—_Huh,_ she thought, _I can't believe one hasn't turned up in my class._ But in this day and age, one was educated on all the essential knowledge about alien races that one needed to know without ever having to come in contact with one.

But learning about something in theory and confronting the actual thing are two different things entirely.

It was tempting to diverge from her course and enter the hall…but she had class to teach, and so she continued along the corridor until she could no longer hear the calm, even intonation of the conversation drifting from the conference hall.

--- --- --- ---

But as she passed, she did not do so without attracting the attention of one of the Vulcan officials within the hall. For a moment, he paused in an attempt to indentify the internal stimulus of his reaction; as far as he could ascertain, his action had not been motivated by logic; he did not wish to accept that it might have been brought on by an emotional condition, and for a split-second, he considered disregarding it altogether. But something spoke to him (an inner-voice, perhaps?) and persuaded him to think that, paradoxically, it would be logical to momentarily trust this jolt of instinct. Inconspicuously, he was able to break away from the group of officials with whom he had been conversing, and exit the room without causing a disturbance. He passed though the doors just in time to see the tail of Amanda Grayson's coat disappear around the corner.

He rounded that same corner and found himself at the head of a long corridor lined with education chambers. Watching the woman enter the third door on the left, he surmised that, logically, she must be a teacher.

The Vulcan hesitated for a moment. Surely, the fellow Assembly members had noticed his conspicuous absence from the hall…but he had now been presented with a unique opportunity: This Earth woman had a certain…_charm_ that he was seldom confronted with. And…certainly, he told himself, (almost as if he was trying to convince himself that there was at least _some_ logic in his decision) there was something to be learned from whatever class she happened to be teaching. But decades of strict Vulcan training had taught him to avoid such situations of emotional guidance and attachment…

For the first time in his life, he allowed his curiosity to win over his logic (mentally noting that he would have to spend several hours meditating on the nature of his decision, in an effort to avoid such foolish leaps of intuition in the future), and he moved towards the classroom door that had just shut.

Amanda had expected to enter her classroom and find a flurry of hushed conversation and students milling about the room, but when she came through the door, her pupils were seated in their desks, attentively awaiting the arrival of their professor.

When she saw this, she did feel a bit guilty to have kept them waiting…but at that moment, she was a little more concerned with catching her breath and gathering her thoughts so she could begin the lecture.

Trying to act as if she had not just arrived forty-five minutes late to her own class, she heaved an exasperated sigh and began. "So…um…tonight …we'll be discussing 14th Century France. Um…" She was distracted as the classroom door eased open, and a tall slender figure slipped in, almost silently. Ms. Grayson's eyes immediately snapped to the

visitor, wondering who would be interrupting her class and why.

She opened her mouth to address the man, but before she could form a sentence, he settled into an empty desk near the front of the class. _Okay…_ she thought, _Erm…new student?_

As he sat down, Amanda was able to get a decent look at him: He was certainly alien, and by looks of his ears and eyebrows…yes, he was definitely Vulcan. _Probably one of the ones from the assembly hall,_ she thought.

She attempted to continue. "Uh…" but she was again fumbling to pick up her thread of speech. This was made even more difficult by the fact that the Vulcan in the front row was keeping steady eye contact with her, his expression unreadable, yet somehow obviously attentive.

She tried for the third time: "So, tonight, we'll be discussing 14th Century France,"

She could feel him watching her. There was no judgment of scrutiny in his stare…just cool, rational observation. Yet that was_ just_ enough to make her nervous. "And how Ambassador Abraham Lincoln saved the Great Pyramids of Giza at Pearl Harbor—" She immediately snapped her mouth shut and widened her eyes.

"I mean…" Ms. Grayson groaned inwardly, gathered her thoughts, and continued with the lecture. It was going to be a _long_ class.

Ambassador Sarek only responded by shifting slightly in his seat.


End file.
